


Echoes

by rednihilist



Series: Like the Waltons 'Verse [3]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Drama, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ay me! for aught that I could ever read/Could ever hear by tale or history/The course of true love never did run smooth." ~ William Shakespeare</p><p>Or: Through A Glass, Darkly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wore It Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "Smallville" and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing—only, hopefully, enjoyment.
> 
> These are five separate stories that take place in five different worlds, the common thread being a certain Kryptonian and his heart. Four of them are set in my own AUs, while one is pretty damn close to canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were one and the same. There was no beginning and no end to who they were, no point of separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as Can't Find My Way Home.

He woke up being kissed. A hand slid around his upper arm, pulling him close, and then Lin's mouth left his. He instead kissed his way along Lex's jaw, until he was at his ear.  
  
"Had a dream about you. . . " Lin whispered, and Lex almost groaned at how deep his voice was. Of course, that was also the moment Lin's other hand came into play, skimming across Lex's hip and back to cup his ass.  
  
Just as Lin's teeth set into Lex's earlobe, he found breath enough to ask, "And what was I doing in this—dream?"  
  
Lin made an "Mmmm" sound, and Lex knew he was smiling. He took the time to work his arm out from under the sheets, and then brought his freed hand up to Lin's shoulder, then to his neck.  
  
"Was it you or me?" Lex went on, holding Lin at his throat and following with his other hand down to where Lin was stroking him.

"Think you can guess," Linny answered smugly, and Lex felt the individual fingers of Lin's hand move apart and then slide along the crack of his ass. Lex wound up tightening the hold he had on Lin's throat, and Lin groaned in response.  
  
"Be– been awhile, for me," Lex whispered. His left hand was still on top of Lin's as he teased, and when Linny made no move to actually follow through with his teasing, Lex squeezed him even tighter by the throat with his right hand. He could feel Lin's pulse thumping heavily against his palm, and when he looked down he saw Lin staring right back up at him. His eyes were already half-shut and his mouth was open and panting. Each time they were together, Lex tried a little more, pushed it a little further, and every time Lin responded so—beautifully.  
  
It should've made him back off entirely. He shouldn't want to push Lin, test him, see just how far he'd go, but he _did_. Lex wanted everything, every little bit of Lin, every dark, torn, twisted piece of who he was. He wanted all of him and he wanted to be the only one to have him.  
  
That urge should have made Lex ashamed, to have those feelings, to want those things. He wasn't the first to want to possess Lin, after all. It should've made him sick.  
  
Maybe it did, a little.  
  
But Lin enjoyed it. The look in his eyes said he did and how he continually maneuvered Lex into being rougher than he started out. It should've scared Lex that _Lin_ enjoyed that, that he enjoyed it too.  
  
But it didn't. He was only scared that he wasn't scared, and then only when he had time to think about it. In the thick of things, when they were right there together, Lex had no hesitation whatsoever in doing what they both wanted done.  
  
Decidedly fed up with the slow teasing, Lex grabbed Lin's hand and pulled it away from his ass. Then, with that tight grip still on his throat, he pulled Lin up to lie flush against his body. There, they just looked at each other for a moment, their eyes not three inches apart. Lex could see himself reflected in Lin's dilated pupils. And maybe he was still drunk from the wine earlier, or drunk on Lin now, but Lex thought he could see himself reflected in Lin as a person, as a man.  
  
They were so very much alike.  
  
Lin moved in quickly to press his lips against Lex's, and Lex responded by grabbing his chin and forcing his mouth open even more. He thrust his tongue inside Lin's mouth like it wasn't his tongue he was thrusting, and Lin wrapped his arms around Lex and just squeezed.  
  
After taking in another breath, Lex rolled them over on the bed so he was on top, and then he broke the kiss and sat up on Lin's thighs. Running his hands up Lin's stomach and chest, he said in his most innocent voice, "Sometimes dreams do come true."  
  
Lin burst out laughing, causing Lex to bounce, and then, still chuckling, Lin reached over to the bedside table and fumbled his hand around in search of the lube. Lex just hung on for the ride, taking pleasure in the way the muscles in Lin's torso and thighs moved and flexed underneath him. Then Lin was suddenly back, followed less than a second later by a breeze of air. Lex raised an eyebrow at him, but Linny just smirked. Then two fingers were slickly pressing against Lex, and another cool rush of air hit him.  
  
"Stop showing off," he complained, dropping down onto Lin's stomach and there propping himself up on his elbows. Lin again chuckled a bit, but Lex didn't mind the repeat in bouncing that caused him, for at that same moment, Lin slid two of his fingers inside. Lex dropped his head down, his breath coming out in heavy gasps against Lin's stomach. One hand was working at scissoring him open, but Lin's other hand was slowly sliding up Lex's side, eventually stopping when his thumb made contact with Lex's left nipple.  
  
That movement, and Lin's slow rubbing back and forth there, distracted Lex long enough that he didn't notice a third finger had been added until suddenly he felt Lin's fingers crook in an unmistakable attempt at finding his prostate. Lin succeeded, of course. Moments later, maybe a lifetime even, Lex managed to lift his head up to look at Lin's face, and he saw that Cheshire cat grin of his. Dirty cheater, Lex thought.  
  
"Unfair—advantage," Lex grumbled, eyeing him. Lin just smirked some more and pressed some more and rubbed at Lex's chest some more. Well, two could play at that game. As Lex balanced on top of Lin, against his own stomach he felt how hard Lin was. His cock was trapped underneath Lex's stomach, and after giving in to an evil smile of his own, Lex started rocking back and forth. Lin gave a little hitching, stuttering gasp, and then he was withdrawing his fingers altogether.  
  
Lex slid his stomach along Lin's length one more time. Then, eyes on Lin, Lex braced himself on the bed with one hand and reached back with his other to line them up. Breathing in together, eyes locked, Lex slid down and Lin slid in.  
  
It wasn't fast, and it wasn't slow. It wasn't soft, or hard, rough, gentle. Lex didn't plan, or think out moves. Lin never hesitated, never gave way. It was instead like they switched roles. Lex rolled his hips, gripped Lin's shoulder tight with his left hand, and Lin. . .  
  
Lin smiled, somehow sitting up and pulling Lex closer at the same time. He held them both in that position with just one arm braced behind himself, and then Lin was kissing Lex and that was it. Lex let go; Lin held on.  
  
They were one and the same. There was no beginning and no end to who they were, no point of separation.  
  
Lin was inside Lex, through and through, down to the core, and Lex—well, he had no plans on ever letting Lin go, not now that he finally had him.  
  
Couldn't cut himself in half, after all.  
  
Against his lips, Colin whispered, "It did come true," and Lex smiled and then slotted his mouth back right where it fit.

 

 


	2. Diverted Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was his, and that's what made all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as World of Tomorrow.

"It's both impractical and insulting for you to be living in such a shithole when you could be at the penthouse with me," Lex had said, upon his first, and _only_ , visit to Kal's so-called apartment. And at that time, yes, all he'd received in response was the poorly concealed amusement of said alien, but now just look at them.  
  
As Kal brought boxes of his things into the penthouse—stacked four and five high, for Christ's sake—Lex had to continually remind himself not to come off looking too overtly smug and self-satisfied. No matter how much he longed to, saying 'I told you so' at this particular moment in time might prove detrimental to a certain plan he had set in motion for later this evening. Although, knowing Kal like he did, Lex would still most likely receive that little idiotic smirk in response if he _did_ say 'I told you so.' The mood was upbeat enough, and Lex could easily recall some of the times back in Smallville when the two of them had done just utterly stupid, childish pranks to each other and laughed themselves silly afterward.  
  
But, best not to chance it. When it came to time alone with Kal, as meager as that often was—considering the man's second "job"—Lex was understandably somewhat careful. He wouldn't risk doing anything that might cut their time short, not through his own fault.  
  
Unfortunately, he didn't take into account _accidental_ fuck-ups on his part, primarily those dreaded slips of the tongue he was prone to in. . . Kal's presence.  
  
Lex called him Clark again. Only seconds later, he was in a rush to correct himself, but when Kal just unceremoniously stopped dead in his tracks and dropped the, _six,_ boxes he'd been carrying, Lex naturally assumed the worst.  
  
Would he be angry that Lex couldn't seem to remember he didn't like being called that anymore? Or would he be hurt? Did he think Lex was doing it deliberately? What if he just got so frustrated and fed up that he about-faced right out of the penthouse, just took all his stuff right back to that horrible little hole-in-the-wall and gave Lex the cold shoulder from this point onward?  
  
God, he couldn't go back to radio silence again. Seven years was too long already.  
  
But as Lex hurriedly tried to assure him that he hadn't meant anything by it, Kal just turned and closed the distance between them. He then reached up and simply set his hand over Lex's mouth, even appearing somewhat amused when that worked and Lex stopped talking.  
  
"Stop worrying about it," he said, and Lex raised his eyebrows. He started to open his mouth against Kal's palm, but was shushed quiet again. "I don't mind," Kal said, "anymore. You can—call me whatever you want, Lex. I know what you mean."  
  
Then he took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth.  
  
Definitely not angry or hurt but a different _sort_ of frustrated.  
  
And so, later, when Lex accidentally called out 'Clark' again with his head tossed back and his hands fisting Kal's hair, he wasn't altogether surprised to receive another _sort_ of kiss in response.  
  
And, knowing Kal like he did, there was probably some poorly concealed amusement going on down there, too, damn him.  
  
Maybe it meant something, and maybe it didn't, but Lex didn't concern himself with it overly much. Kal was who he was; Lex's life was his own; they were together, any and all baggage included.  
  
Especially with the baggage, maybe because of it. And if there were a ton of it, then Lex also had no problem lugging his share around—as long as it were metaphorical baggage.  
  
Because in the end, Lex knew who this man was, knew him down to his core, and that was all that really mattered.  
  
An alien soul mate by any other name. . .  
  
 *******  
  
Lex was clearly anxious, but for all that, resolute. Once his mind was made up, Lex, both metaphorically and literally sometimes too, dug his heels in and refused to be budged. If he blundered, he'd once said, then he wanted it to be as a consequence of his own choice to take action. Lex never wanted to wait to see how events might play out, never wanted to sit on the fence.  
  
Kal knew it for what it was: Lex refusing to be a victim, even through inaction. And in this he saw reflections of himself, as well. For too long had Clark put off doing what was necessary, so much so that by the time he _was_ ready, it had been well and truly out of his hands. Jor-El had made one decision for him, taken away one path in life Clark might have had, but Clark had left himself wide open, vulnerable. He'd been afraid, and he'd paid the price for not being brave enough to overcome that fear and do what was necessary, accept the inevitable. And so now Kal was the one who'd chosen _this_ life as it currently functioned. He did not hesitate anymore. He embraced the tough decisions, the hard tasks, the sacrifices that living the way he did and doing the things he did demanded of him.  
  
But that meant he also reaped all the benefits.   
  
Life wasn't perfect, and neither was Tomorrow, no matter what both the press and the people by and large seemed to believe. They didn't know the half of it. Every good deed he did he seemed to pay for, whether with blood and pain and setbacks in his life as Clark Kent, or personal, moral struggles. Nothing was easy these days. Kryptonite was still everywhere, despite Lex's continued efforts at rounding it up. That was a losing battle, though, as prior to his death—Lionel had truly been quite the busy bee. Almost every country's leaders around the world had stockpiles of Kryptonite, and there were still huge amounts of the drug Metem being sold on the Black Market. Kal didn't like to dwell on what that meant, long term, or even what Lionel's state of mind must have been to even _contemplate_ messing around with the substance.  
  
And so, when things got bad, they got really fucking bad, really fucking quick. At last count, he'd been critically exposed to red sunlight three times, stabbed in the heart with Kryptonite twice, received numerous death threats against those he loved, and even poisoned with magic via a martini at one of Lex's LeXcorp parties. Life was tough, and life for Tomorrow—exponentially tougher. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall" was not one of Kal's favorite sayings, primarily because it was just too damn true.  
  
And, yet, for all the bad, he knew without a doubt that he'd never been happier. He knew exactly who and what he was. He knew his limits, weaknesses, and the fact that he could almost never escape his past, and even still, when he woke up he felt at peace with himself.  
  
He was Kal-El of Krypton. He was Tomorrow. He was Clark Kent.  
  
He was who he was, and he did what he had to, and he wasn't alone in the universe, not really.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
He had acquaintances, coworkers, a boss in Perry, a partner in Lois. Kal had allies, an entire League of them, people willing to stand beside him, willing to fight next to him for the sake of this world and its inhabitants. He had partners, in Bruce, Diana, J'onn, Arthur, Victor, Bart, Dinah.  
  
He had friends, people who knew almost everything about him, and some who knew it all. He had Chloe, and Pete, Whitney. He had the Fortress, and his father's AI, something that would never leave him, never die—something that made reconciling all the different parts of his life possible in the first place.  
  
He had the Kents, his mom and dad, the people who taught him what was right, who loved him as a son. They'd given him a home. They'd saved him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to fully repay his parents for all the sacrifices they'd made.  
  
And then, there was Lex, because waking up was easy these days, something Kal even looked forward to, and that had everything to do with who he was waking up next to. Lex was the one constant, the bridge between the past and the future, Clark and Kal-El. Lex was the present, the now, and he was. . .  
  
He was _his_ , and that's what made all the difference. Everything had to do with Lex. Lex saw something in Kal, a good man, a friend, a lover, someone to look up to. He wanted to be that man Lex believed in, the person he loved.  
  
Lex made everything possible; he made Kal-El human.  
  
He made Clark a hero.

 


	3. Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was hope right there, that smile. It was bliss and seemingly endless possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as Lost Souls.

He nudged his boot against Clark's shoe under the table. When he looked up in response, Lex raised his eyebrows and mouthed 'What's wrong?' _quickly_ , on the off-chance his father might be looking his way again at that moment.  
  
Clark shook his head, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced over at Lex's father and then back to Lex.  
  
Well, yeah, there was that, but Lex was completely sure that wasn't the true cause of Clark's mood. He'd been like this for weeks now, long before Lex had finally managed to summon up the nerve to ask him here tonight. Something else was bothering Clark, and no matter which tack he took, Lex couldn't figure out exactly what that something was. He tried wheedling, flirting, understanding, supportive, had even gone for indignant last night, and still nothing was forthcoming. He'd been hoping that maybe springing the question on Clark would yield results, but this moment disproved that theory also.  
  
Clark was a great deal like a closed book most of the time, and in the past few weeks that particular character trait had become much more pronounced. Frankly, Lex was sick of it. He hated feeling out of the loop, always the last to know, if ever told at all. He'd thought with Clark at least that he was done experiencing that alienated feeling, but here it was again, just as sharp as ever.  
  
He wondered if Clark's friends knew what was eating at him. He wondered if Clark even still talked to his friends back in Smallville, for he never made mention of them, never talked about anything to do with the town at all. Then Lex blinked, and swallowed quickly, and looked a little more closely at Clark's face.  
  
Those eyebrows weren't drawn together, and those eyes themselves weren't narrowed. Clark wasn't worried then, as Lex knew his worried face extremely well. Slight downturn to the mouth, yes, but it wasn't a frown precisely. Truth to tell, when taken into consideration separately, individually, Clark's features didn't give a clue as to what he was actually feeling or thinking. Lex was back to the drawing board.  
  
What would make Clark sulk without sulking? Was he sulking? The more he thought on it, the more convinced Lex became that Clark wasn't sulking, actually. Sad? Depressed? If he _were_ worried, and Lex was somehow misreading all the signs, then what would be the correct course of action? Would confronting Clark prove effective, or was this another instance wherein Lex simply waiting him out in silence eventually moved Clark to confess all?  
  
Whatever the case, Lex needed to figure it out and soon. Even virtual strangers were picking up on Clark's funk these days. Lex's father himself had remarked on it just this evening, and things were pretty bad when Clark couldn't even fake happy to _Dad_. Things were pretty bad when Clark didn't bother to fake happy to _anyone_ —to everyone.  
  
Although, Lex found it comforting that what he'd clued into two weeks ago was just now coming to other people's attentions. Clark had been 'off' since the summer had started, since before then really, since moving to the city.  
  
Since. . .  
  
Lex dropped his eyes down to the table, and had to consciously stop himself from fidgeting with the silverware in front of him. Dad wouldn't likely react negatively here in public, but if Lex did mess up, then eventually he'd find himself on the receiving end of another lecture on proper dining and social etiquette, and how as a Luthor he had an image to uphold, and that _"playing with the damned silverware, Lex, isn't what professionals do!"_  
  
He sighed, trying to shift his focus to the fact that at least his brief words with the organizer of the seating had proven fruitful. Dad was still in intense debate with the Russian ambassador, and had hardly paid any attention to Lex whatsoever, let alone Clark. Which was a good thing, definitely, but which line of thought also effectively brought Lex back to _thinking_ about Clark, and about Clark's mood in particular.  
  
It wasn't an anniversary that Lex knew of. The six month mark was still a ways down the road, and neither of the Kents had had a summer birthday. Lex had even checked into the Clarks, and neither William nor Mary celebrated anything in late June. The Fourth of July was coming up, but he didn't think that held any remarkable--  
  
A hand set down heavily on his left shoulder, and Lex turned his head quickly in that direction. His father was smirking at him, the Russian ambassador following his line of sight.  
  
"Of course, Lex speaks fluent Russian, as well," Dad boasted, patting Lex's shoulder and then slightly digging his fingers into the bone out of sight on the final downward motion. The two were obviously still engaged in discussion, but Lex took Dad's hint and forced himself to pay attention and contribute. When the topic switched to something Lex wasn't expected to know a great deal about, he managed to look away. He hadn't been alive in the 70s, after all, and _"call me Yuri"_ was obviously most interested in Dad's own experiences, not Lex's. In fact, Lex had the distinct impression the ambassador was almos—flirting with his father.  
  
So Lex went to turn back to Clark, and instead found himself staring in shock at Clark's empty seat. He sat there, perplexed, for a few seconds, before promptly and discreetly excusing himself from the table. His first guess was the bathroom, but only because it was closest. Of course Clark wasn't there. Next, Lex made a circuit of the room, trying his best not to get snared into any conversations. Still, there was no sign of Clark.  
  
Lex eventually wound up standing stunned at the bar, wondering if Clark hadn't just left entirely. Then he felt a warm breeze on his head and neck, and looked to find its source. A laughing man and woman were reentering the building through a set of French doors. Beyond them, Lex could just make out what appeared to be a large decorative garden with. . .  
  
He was across the tile floor and out that door in less than 30 seconds, and then it was just a matter of playing hide-and-seek. The patio was wide and descended into two sets of stairs down to the lawn and garden. Lex veered to the right staircase, still politely nodding to everyone but never stopping to chat. He couldn't even rationalize it to himself, but somehow he knew where to go, away from the crowd of people, as far from the noise and light as he could get and still be on the property. Clark wouldn't have left, he realized, but he couldn't stay inside there, either. And Lex wanted to put that down to the recent tragedies in his life, his parents' deaths and the sheer coldness of the Clarks, but the fact was Clark had always kept to himself, had always stayed at the edge.  
  
He was, in that way, very much like Lex himself.  
  
Trees lined several pathways through the garden, and Lex chose the rightmost again. He walked, and as soon as he was out of sight of the patio and the people up there, he increased his pace. There were bugs out, lots of them, and occasionally one would fly close to his ear or directly in his line of sight. It was when Lex was mid-swipe at dislodging one such particularly annoying mosquito that a hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Before he knew it he was being hugged, and it was already quite warm outside, being late June in Kansas, but Lex honestly didn't mind the extra heat coming from Clark.  
  
Not at all.  
  
He liked to think that he made the first move, that he closed most of the distance between them. Probably, though, it was more of a tie, a race to see who could get there first. Lex virtually mashed his lips against Clark's, and, for his part, Clark seemed just as equally determined to mold himself to Lex. There was Clark's tongue, and Lex met it with his own, launching a series of jabs and parries. Lex also took that time to put his hands to good use. He ran them down along the ridges of Clark's spine, over his shirt, and then dipped below the belt and waistband of Clark's pants. Next, Lex started pulling said shirt up and out, so that he could run his hands back up Clark's spine—this time with no barrier.  
  
Eventually, they pulled apart, but Lex was too absorbed in just experiencing the moment to really keep track of things like that anymore. It was most likely only a minute or two, but with Clark time did have a habit of passing in odd ways. Sometimes– sometimes, it almost seemed like it was moving backwards, like when it was the two of them alone there very nearly existed the possibility of rewriting their own history.  
  
Or that's what it felt like, at least.  
  
And while these days pulling back from Clark was proving more and more difficult, the effects of such a withdrawal were eased somewhat by Lex's increasing freedom with Clark's person. He could touch any part of him, _had touched_ nearly every part of him. Lex could kiss him anywhere, on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his thigh, the ball of his foot, the peak of his hipbone, or the tip of his cock, and he could do so because. . .  
  
Clark suddenly dived back in and resumed his attempts at conquering Lex's mouth. It crossed his mind at that point, before he again lost himself in the haze that was Clark, to hope that no one stumbled upon the two of them out here in the garden in what was fast becoming a compromising situation.  
  
But as he finally succeeded in getting his hands on the skin of Clark's back, and in turn found one of Clark's hands sneaking down the front of his pants, Lex knew he honestly didn't care. Clark might have been feeling sad, might still feel guilty or ashamed for some reason in response to his parents' deaths, but he was here with Lex. And as long as he was here, there was always the chance to make things better, to do it right.  
  
For with Clark, only with Clark, Lex knew what it was to think about the future and not feel—dread. Clark squeezed Lex; Lex bit Clark's lip in response; Clark smiled, and Lex felt it against his lips, tasted that smile in his mouth, swallowed it down to his very core.  
  
That was hope right there, that smile. It was bliss and seemingly endless possibility.  
  
With Clark. Only with Clark.

 


	4. Golden Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three of them had a lot in common, for all that most of the details of their lives differed greatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as Teenage Wasteland.

He came into the living room and could tell the instant that Jason realized he was there. A small smile curved Jay's lips, but he resolutely kept his eyes on whatever it was he was reading, not even glancing up to see who'd entered.  
  
Well, two could play that game. Instead of going over to Jason on the sofa and distracting him away from business, Clark went into the kitchen and started pulling things out to make a meal. He'd eaten the last of the leftovers this morning before he'd left, so it was an ideal time to cook something, anyway. Cooking now also had the added bonus of making Jason come to _him_.  
  
Something Italian. That always worked.  
  
And sure enough, 23 minutes later as he was stirring the sauce, in came Jay. He oh-so-casually walked right up behind Clark and literally breathed down his neck.  
  
"Think you're so clever," he said, to which Clark just chuckled and nodded.  
  
A minute passed, wherein Jason moved around to lean against the counter right next to Clark, but neither of them spoke. And so Clark knew that, whatever was in the files Jason had been looking at back in the other room, it wasn't serious. He'd been almost positive that Jay "ignoring" him was just him playing, but he'd been wrong before. It was always good to have confirmation.  
  
Who would have guessed that between Lex and Jay, Lex would prove easier to understand?  
  
"He still at the office?" Clark asked, looking over at Jay and then gesturing for him to pass the dishes of oregano and parsley that were near his elbow.  
  
Jason nodded, reaching back for the herbs and then deliberately brushing his hands over Clark's as he passed them along. Clark just rolled his eyes but shifted closer so that his thigh touched Jay's.  
  
"Everything okay?" Clark asked, and when Jason's expression went serious he knew he got what Clark was talking about. "Usually _you're_ the one burning the candle at both ends."  
  
Jason looked away, reaching over to take back the now empty herb dishes from Clark's hands, and not touching him as he did so. Great, Clark thought, sighing. It was one of those kinds of deals.  
  
Never failed. It seemed like one of them always had to be in turmoil. Clark would have a good day, and Lex would too, and then Jason would come home a wreck or have some kind of flashback. Or a natural disaster would hit as Lex and Jason were laughing or having fun doing some business thing, and that would put Clark right at the center of human suffering and pain, which was always a real blast.  
  
And now it was Lex's turn again. Clark hadn't gotten in from patrol until four or so last night, and by the time he'd woken up this morning, Lex was long gone. And the last time he'd spoken to Lex—something had seemed kind of "off."  
  
He went on stirring the sauce but kept an eye on Jason. He had a pretty definite feeling that Jay knew what was going on. He usually did, especially when it came to Lex. Everyone on the outside of them always seemed to think Clark himself was the bridge, the mediator, the glue in the relationship, but anyone with half a brain who'd spent more than 15 minutes with them should've been able to see it was, more often than not, _Jay_ who kept them together. Lex was good with Jason, and Jason was usually keyed into whatever was going on with Lex.  
  
And most of the time, Clark felt embarrassingly oblivious to both of them. Lex and Jay seemed to know _him_ , better than he did himself in a lot of instances, but it usually took one or the other of them literally telling him what was wrong for him to know something was in the first place. He thought he'd gotten better at it in the past year or so, mainly because he was actively trying to be more observant and sensitive to the people around him, but he never seemed to just get things as effortlessly as both Jason and Lex did. Clark didn't intuit very well, at least not as far as people and their motivations were concerned.  
  
He suspected it had something to do with him being alien, and thinking that usually pissed him off enough to make him determined to figure things out on his own.  
  
Needless to say, Clark's parents thought it was hilarious whenever some reporter wrote an article essentially calling Clark "the wife" in the relationship. They'd call up and tease him about it, and he'd feel eight years old all over again, asking if they were _both stay-at-home moms because weren't they both always around the house, and one of the boys Pete hung out with had said that that's what moms do. . . ?_  
  
He didn't think he'd ever live that one down.  
  
The sauce was now hot, bubbling up and ready, but Clark just slid the pan over and then turned off the burner. Turning to face him directly, Clark put his hands on Jay's shoulders and asked again, "What's wrong? Something I did?" he guessed.  
  
Jay's head darted up quickly, but thankfully it was a bewildered look there on his face and not something more confirming. But then Jason was shaking his head and placing his hands over Clark's, and whatever it was—for all that it wasn't Clark's fault—he knew he'd have to do something about it, step in. Jay's expression was now the one where he was trying to figure out how to ask for help.  
  
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Jason just gave up and bluntly stated, "It's his dad. Another letter came a few days ago." Clark felt his lip curl in disgust, and Jay just raised his eyebrows in agreement.  
  
"What's he want this time?" Clark asked. "Unlimited internet access so he can try and stage another coup? Still after better _'accommodations'_?" Jason grimaced, as Clark hadn't been able to resist saying the last with air-quotes, reminding them both of the last communiqué from Lionel some six months ago. In it, the man had made it sound like he was being unfairly punished. Clark hadn't been able to believe the sheer nerve of sending Lex something like that letter! Lionel was a convicted felon in prison for _murder_ , multiple counts of it even. Damn right he was being punished but not even close to unfairly so. He was at a higher standard of living than three-fourths of the entire world, showed no trace of remorse for anything he'd done, least of all to Lex, and he had the gall to write asking, no, _demanding_ that he be given better "accommodations" as his right as a human being and Lex's father.  
  
 _"I only ever did what needed to be done in the interests of my family,"_ Lionel had written. _"Surely, then, I am not now to be tortured for loving too much that which matters to me most, so much so that I gave up everything to protect it, surrendered my very freedom, in point of fact, in an effort to keep you, my only son, out of harm's way."_  
  
It'd been all Clark could do not to go over there and give the bastard a piece of his mind, and _show him_ what torture really was. 'Harm's way'? 'That which matters to me most'? Did Lionel actually expect Lex to believe that garbage, or did he just do it to fuck with him some more? Clark couldn't tell, but figured, it being Lionel, he probably aimed for both. He wanted out, and he wanted to break Lex again, get back at him for coming out on top once more in their struggle, and he most likely didn't care which happened first.  
  
So, great, it was another Lionel-letter. Yeah, that would make sense of Lex's behavior. One thing constantly plaguing Lex with worry was the fear that he'd eventually, somehow, turn power-hungry and evil and destroy the world. More than once, usually when he was drunk or directly after he'd fired someone at work, Lex made Clark swear he wouldn't let him "go bad," as he put it. Lionel brought out the worst in Lex, made him question everything and everyone. Clark didn't hate easily—but he _hated_ Lionel.  
  
He still had his hands on Jason's shoulders and took the opportunity to pull him closer. He went high, wrapping his arms around Jay's neck and shoulders. Jason, in turn, went low, his hands sliding back along Clark's spine. Thank God for Jason, he found himself thinking. Both he and Lex would be lost without him, hopelessly fumbling around each other and completely without a clue.  
  
It was just Lionel taking another jab at Lex's weak spots—nothing they hadn't gotten through before, nothing they couldn't handle. Clark maybe should have been more concerned than he was about Lex's decision to, for the second time in a row, hide the fact that he'd received a letter from his father. But, for once, Clark thought he might actually understand Lex's reasoning for it. No one wanted to seem weak, Lex least of all, and Clark had found out early on in his career that people tended to try and overcompensate for that around him. They called Superman the Man of Steel. No pressure there.  
  
The three of them had a lot in common, for all that most of the details of their lives differed greatly. At their cores, though, they were all three the same, and Lex wasn't the only one in the relationship with a bastard for a father. Although, his was the only one still technically alive. Both of Jason's parents were, thankfully, long gone, and while Clark's mom and dad more than made up for Jor-El's continued "presence" in his life, he still took no pleasure from having to deal with the ass every time he went up to the Fortress.  
  
Suddenly, the door to the penthouse was opened and then a couple seconds later slammed shut. Clark pulled back a little from Jason, and when he saw the expression on Jay's face, knew they were both thinking pretty much the same thing.  
  
Well, Clark then thought, as Lex could be heard crossing the living room, at least afterward there would be food. He and Jason disentangled themselves, taking a step back just as Lex came into the kitchen.  
  
"Honey, I'm home," Lex said quietly from where he leaned in the doorway. Clark hesitantly flashed a smile back at him over his shoulder, and then turned around and started doing a repeat heating of the sauce.  
  
"And how was your day, sweetie?" Jason returned, playing along.  
  
"Long," Lex answered, and Clark waited to see if he'd elaborate.  
  
When he didn't, though, Clark seized the opportunity and focused his eyes on the sauce, heating it up a little before then carefully scooping some of it onto the stirring spoon. Then, with a hand hovering underneath to catch any drips, Clark turned and held it out.  
  
"Come here and be my guinea pig," he invited Lex, and even with how shitty he must have been feeling, Lex smiled. He pushed away from his perch in the doorway and slowly walked over. Then, his eyes on Clark, Lex bent forward, opened his mouth, and took a little of the sauce for a taste test.  
  
"So," Jason asked, once again leaning on the counter next to Clark, "what's the verdict?"  
  
"Perfect," Lex said, and when he got that sad smile on his face, Clark knew enough to get that they weren't only talking about the sauce anymore.  
  
"You better believe it," Clark retorted, and Jason chuckled.  
  
"Home sweet home," Jay said quietly, and even after Clark turned back to resume stirring the sauce, Lex stayed there next to him, right there with both Clark and Jason.

 

 

 


	5. Lost Footing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no second chance this time, no possibility of ever truly setting things right. He couldn't rewrite history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very nearly canon compliant (except for the Tess part). . .

It wasn't the same Lex; of course it wasn't. When Clark told Lois, she believed him. Maybe that shouldn't have surprised him, but it had. He was still getting used to the idea that Lois knew, that she _could_ _know_ The Truth and still– that she would stick around.  
  
That didn't really happen, ever, at least not in Clark's experience. So far, Lois was the only one. Well, she and Ollie were the longest-running, but Oliver wasn't—in any way, shape, or form—in the same category. Oliver was a friend and a comrade. Lois was both and so much more.  
  
"He's some sort of clone," Clark had confided to her. He'd been leaning forward, and she was sitting back. At the time, the thought had crossed his mind that it was a reversal of their usual roles. Lois' face after Clark told her—it was funny, but he couldn't laugh. He just couldn't laugh about Lex anymore, no matter how absurdly funny it got, and it did get pretty damn funny sometimes.  
  
Lex was kind of a sore spot. Clark didn't think he'd ever really be able to just brush talk of him aside, and a part of him was glad for it. All he had left of Lex were the memories. This clone might have those too, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same person, no matter what it looked like to the general public. The guy could spin his tall tales and schmooze everyone he liked. It wouldn't change the fact that this Lex Luthor was not Clark's Le– wasn't the _real_ Lex Luthor.  
  
The fact that the guy was walking around with Lex's things in a copy of Lex's body—that of course didn't help matters any, but it didn't fool Clark. It didn't fool Superman or the League. When he sat Lois down and told her, it didn't fool Lois, either, and Clark remembered right then everything that he loved about her. Lois was a godsend.  
  
She just 'got' things, even before Clark did himself most of the time. This was no different.  
  
It really wasn't.  
  
Later, at a big hoorah birthday party, they danced, Clark gently pinching Lois' arm whenever her language took a turn for the gutter. He spun her around in proper circles for most of the night—slow, gentlemanly-like, son-of-a-senator-don't-mind-me dancing—but, later on, after she'd had a few too many drinks and the room had cleared quite a bit, Clark gave in and pulled her closer. Lois wrapped both her arms all the way around him. She laid her head on his shoulder, and eventually he got her to step onto his feet and leave them there, if only to keep her from continually tripping over him. Lois was a terrible dancer, but whenever he tried to discreetly call her on it and suggest some other diversion of a Friday night, she'd get that look on her face.  
  
"Takes one to know one, Smallville," she'd once tartly said, and then had promptly followed that up with a drunken shimmy that made even Clark look like Fred Astaire.  
  
"You look good together," his mom always told him. He'd laughed once afterward, and she'd swatted him on the arm. "You do," she'd insisted, reaching over to squeeze the spot on his arm she'd just smacked. "You look so happy together, honey." His mom didn't cry much anymore, not with tears, but Clark knew her expressions. He knew her, and he'd known what she'd really meant.  
  
"I love you too, Mom," he'd reminded her quietly.  
  
Oliver had given Clark a curt nod before he'd left the ballroom earlier, his eyes flickering pointedly over to Lois at the bar and back. Clark had caught the smirk on Ollie's face, and rolled his eyes in response. Lois was Lois. She talked to everyone, and to her mind introductions were nothing more than antiquated ritual. Clark's mom could have introduced Lois to Bruce Wayne, just as Oliver and Tess could've—but Lois hadn't waited. She'd just barreled right over to the guy, leaving Clark standing there in a corner of the room, shaking his head in exasperation and watching it all play out.  
  
Wayne looked to have a good poker face overall, but every once in awhile he'd given himself away. There were tiny, fleeting expressions that crossed his face at times, each barely lasting for a second, but always long enough for Clark to spot. Lois had been talking and gesturing wildly about animal rights and testing in WayneTech labs—and Bruce Wayne? He'd looked bewildered most of the time, and in small doses amused. Clark had chuckled, knowing that was most people's reaction to Lois.  
  
Now he held Lois close, and she held him. He'd made it a habit to tell her everything he could, almost everything she asked, and almost everything she'd want to know but didn't know to ask about in the first place. Clark knew she did the same for him. He trusted her, with more than his life. He loved Lois, loved her so much, with every fiber of his being. She kept some secrets, and Clark kept one too, but he didn't love anyone alive more than he loved Lois Lane.  
  
This new Lex Luthor's name popped up often, at the paper and in discussions at Watchtower, and at those times, Clark would meet Tess' eyes across the room, and know just from looking at her that this new Lex Luthor, this clone, it wasn't the same Lex. It never would be. The clone was only the worst parts of Lex, boiled down, distilled. He was the result of everything, the final outcome, the finished product. His very existence was a constant reminder to Clark that he'd failed, and every fleeting glimpse of the real Lex that Clark caught in this new one was– it was just false hope.  
  
And that's why he couldn't laugh about it all, couldn't make fun of it. Clark's biggest secret these days wasn't that he was an alien, or that he went around trying to help people while wearing a bright costume. It was that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, tried to talk himself into not feeling it, into not believing it—Lois wasn't the only one he had feelings for.  
  
But, the reality was, he was in love with a ghost, a memory, the flash of someone he would never really see again, never talk to, never make it up to, never forgive—never _save_. His _feelings_ were false hope. They never went away, and there would never be anything he could do about them. There would never be any closure.  
  
There was no second chance this time, no possibility of ever truly setting things right. He couldn't rewrite history.  
  
And so Clark held Lois as close to himself as he could, and tried to block out everything else in existence but her.  
  
And he prayed that wasn't a false hope, too.

 


End file.
